


Aisthesis

by CountessMillarca



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Complete, Drabble Sequence, F/M, Mental Instability, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 11:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountessMillarca/pseuds/CountessMillarca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reality can be a cruel mistress, but imagination is a far crueler realm to dwell—and the worst monsters are the chimeras in our mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Osphresis

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own InuYasha. All credit belongs to Takahashi Rumiko.

 

__"You have corrupted my imagination and inflamed my blood."_ _

* * *

Wisps of raven-black silk billow through the silver of his hair—inviting. Bells of lilting laughter ring in his ears—tempting. Flecks of gleaming sapphire enthrall his eyes—luring. Never before has a human being held his interest with such rapture. _Never_. He struggles to unveil the shrouded mystery, give reason to unbecoming curiosity, end the wretched obsession. He cannot understand the potent power of this woman; and so—he observes and stalks and waits.

 _What are you, onna? Why am I drawn to you? Why does your face cause me unrest?_ Countless times he ponders the implications of this unprecedented occurrence. Yet no answers are found each and every time. There is only unwanted want. Festering. Seething. Devouring.

He can understand honor, pride, duty, always has. They are the values which nurture, sustain, and validate his ageless existence. Intrigue is foreign to him—so is attraction, and lust. He cannot find words more suiting to name these strange emotions. Yet even as he recognizes them for what they are, he feels as if they do not belong to _him_. Her scent clings to his skin like velvet lavender; but he remembers not when her touch corrupted him. He has never dared taste what is forbidden, the nectar of her hidden gifts, he is certain. Then, why…why does her essence saturate his blood? _Why_?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning is from Venus in Furs by Leopold von Sacher-Mosach.


	2. Horasis

 

  
__"The monster once awakened, may go into hibernation, but he is always lurking."_ _

* * *

Dark gold preys upon bare skin and soft curves. Pupils black-slit, dilated. She is no different than any other human female and yet, she _is_. She alone possesses the power to twist his detached reality into a vortex of hunger. Is it the graceful arc of her neck? The teasing swells of her breasts? The smooth shape of her hips? He knows not what beckons his gaze or moves his feet—but he is moving. Closer. Farther.

“Miko.” He can’t help but call out to her. Dignity, he realizes, long-forgotten but deep-rooted, an impulse he cannot ignore. He attempts to mask the ravenous need in his voice, dull. Callous. Cold.

Even after his warning call, she _still_ gives him her nude back. Eyes, the shade of an endless sea, peek under thick lashes as her head turns coyly. A blurred image flickers in his distorted memories; the lovely visage of a female back, _her_ back. Why? How? When?

“Miko.” The same word, the same meaning—but _not_ the same voice. This utterance is heavy, sensual. Awareness scintillates in the deep-blue of her gaze when she hears the change, wanting, wanton. She recognizes him now, her lover.

“Sesshōmaru-sama.” Her spine arches as she shifts her body in the way she knows he enjoys. Slowly, she submits herself to the insatiate lust in the gold of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning is from Nira/Sussa by Julian Darius.


	3. Achoe

 

  
__"She had borne so long this cruelty of belonging to him and not being claimed by him."_ _

* * *

Crimson weaves in liquid gold; fangs bleed yielding flesh. He battles down the natural instinct to claim, take and ravage. But there is no need; he has done as much in the past. Yes, he has broken her in legion, jagged pieces, again, and again, and again. Only to make her whole once more; to wed her abused parts as he commands. She has learned her place— _beneath_ _him_ —and she welcomes his touch; craves it yet. Her bowed posture before him, her reined spirit confirms this truth.

He gives a small shake of his head, long silver locks swaying, and she understands. She knows to lower her naked body to the misty surface of the water, plant her palms and knees on the unforgiving rocks underneath. Moans of pleasure fall from her lips as her back melds against hard, sinuous muscle. He swallows her breathless sounds with a beast-like growl, conquers. She is such a delicate creature. Soft. Bendable. Always has been, since the very first time he took her—and always will be.

Time stands still, quiet, and she submits. But not he, never he. He is moving inside wet flesh and tightness; he is pounding. Black locks trapped between claws and moon-marks carved into skin—hedonism. Her white skin lures him shamelessly, whispers it cannot remain as is. It is not comely on her for she is most beautiful amidst red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning is from Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence.


	4. Geusis

 

  
__"He broke my heart. You merely broke my life."_ _

* * *

The _sight_ of blood-red on her skin, so perfectly tainted, spurs him on a wild hunt. But it is her _smell_ and _taste_ as well. Slick heat is her flesh around his hardness; sweet intoxication is her blood on his tongue. She mewls, a longing cry of need, when she is denied the pressure of his body and the pleasure-pain of his fangs. But the urge of _sight_ is too strong, too much to be ignored. He craves to _see—_ the quivering line of her spine as she writhes beneath him.

He drags one clawed fingertip across the pathway of her vertebrae, takes delight in the shivers, the spasms that spill within. Fingers splay over the curve of her buttock, sink into the jut of her hip, and he rams against her. And now _sound_ joins the sensuous sensations. A luxurious scream escapes her throat when he draws back the obsidian in his grip—surges forward once more—and skin slaps against skin.    

A powerful name thrums amidst guttural echoes of ecstasy. _Sesshōmaru_. His mind takes pause even if his body does not. _Sesshōmaru._ He recalls hearing this name before, he is certain. _Sesshōmaru._ But he has _never_ heard it being worshipped in such manner. Pleading. Hallowed. Fanatic.

Sesshōmaru—Killing Perfection _—his name_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning is from Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov.


	5. Aphe

 

  
__"He was jealous of her future, and she of his past."_ _

* * *

Blood-red submits to its master’s call, unweaves its intricate designs. They drain away, painstakingly slow, leaving only sleek gold to dwell in his haunted gaze now, pure light. An ill fallacy the likes of which he has never endured in the past—but he _has_. He cannot fathom the raw, metallic ecstasy throbbing in his veins; he does not want to. The serpentine creature who gluts him with pleasure—a human; a priestess; a witch. She twists and snakes and bends to the thrusts of his surging hips; and _still_... Still he beats to her rhymes.

He lifts his chin, turns to the stars and the moon, silver matted against his skin, lashes descending. He has no desire to feel. _No_. He wishes to erase sight; and smell; and taste; and sound; and touch, most of all… _touch_. Euphonious feminine laughter seeps in his senses treacherously. Saccharine. Insidious. Such a despicably sweet and desirous sound it is—sentient.

“Where are you, _love_? There? Here? In between? Where are _you_? Where am _I_?” She asks, and laughs, and moves; she never ceases her hypnotic, slithering dance. Wetness and heat smear over his pelvis as she rides him—as she _always_ has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning is from Delta of Venus by Anais Nin.


	6. Noesis

 

  
__"We're all toys, broken and misused and thrown away. We might as well play for a little while."_ _

* * *

The water licking at his calves becomes fabric, rough, coarse, grazing against his sweaty back. The wind turns to suffocating breaths in the narrow room. The soft flesh yielding to his pounding rhythm metamorphoses into spread thighs over his hipbones. But the slick-hot depths bearing his hardness never change—they are there. Swallowing. Deepening. Binding.

Dark lashes unveil anguished hazel, willing, loathsome passion. The human, the priestess, the witch rises above him—but she is _not_. No, she is none of these things, she never was. And he is not demon, he is not power, he is not beast—he merely wished to be. What is real and what is not, he can tell. Her cries of wretched want, his growls of used abuse—and sinful lust, hollow. They are his why and how and when; and _always_.

The resounding _click_ of his white prison barely registers in his jarred mind. She leaves him be, for now. But she will return, yes, she will. And he will be honor and beast in her absence once more. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning is from Drowning Ophelia by Eva Natsumi.


End file.
